


Uncontained

by Berty



Category: due South
Genre: First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-23
Updated: 2006-12-23
Packaged: 2017-10-12 10:36:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/123991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Berty/pseuds/Berty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Fraser, are we gonna... fixate?"<br/>"Asphyxiate?"<br/>"Does that mean run out of air?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Uncontained

**Author's Note:**

> With thanks to Pepe for the beta

"Fraser? Are we gonna... fixate?"

"Asphyxiate?"

"Does that mean run out of air?"

"Yes, Ray."

"Then, yeah. We gonna do that?"

"I don't believe so. I don't think this container is completely air-tight as evidenced by the marked drop in temperature of approximately two and a half degrees Celsius around the door at this end, in addition to the fact that I can identify the scents of diesel fuel, stagnant water and, if I'm not mistaken..."

"Fraser?"

"Yes?"

"'No', would have done."

"Ah, right you are. No, Ray, we are in no immediate danger of asphyxiation."

"Good. Fine. Greatness."

"No. I believe the greatest danger that faces us is the continued..."

"Fraser? Did I say you could talk? 'Cause I do _not_ remember that."

"Well, no, Ray. I just assumed when you asked me a question that your fit of pique was over and that..."

"It's not. Still full of pique over here, pique every-fucking-where - whatever that is."

"Ah. Right. I'll just..."

"Shut up?"

"Yes."

Fraser could hear the scrape and muffled bangs of his partner shifting position. He squinted ineffectually into the darkness hoping to catch some vague movement, but there was nothing to see. It didn't help matters that they were both dressed in dark clothing as their presence on the quayside that evening had been covert.

He wasn't entirely sure why Ray was blaming him for their current position - locked inside a pitch black, but apparently not airtight metal container, one of a large number of identical containers sitting on the dock awaiting a cargo. He'd thought it prudent that they conceal themselves when it had become apparent that their quarry was still in fact present in the yard, and not elsewhere as their information had suggested.

He couldn't possibly have known that a dockyard worker would close their container within three minutes of them hiding inside it. However the look that Ray had aimed at him in the last of the light before the door had clanged shut had left him in no doubt that he was laying the blame squarely at Fraser's feet.

Fraser closed his eyes - not that it made a difference - and began to stretch out with his other senses. He hadn't heard any human activity in the immediate vicinity since the door had been closed. He could hear gulls and the distant metallic screech of machinery; no-one close enough to hear them if they shouted. Tilting his head, Fraser could also hear Ray's subtle movements, a rustle of clothing, the rhythmic tapping of his nervous fingers on some bony part of his body - probably knees. Ray's breathing sounded a little fast for their current level of exertion, but he knew his enquiries into this would be met with silence at best.

As far as touch was concerned, Fraser had already been all over the interior of their container, searching for something they could use to their advantage. He'd encountered only rough walls (thick paint over mildly corroded metal), the plywood floor (made in six pieces and fastened with fifteen millimetre, flat headed, counter-sunk screws - probably made of brass) and an unspecified number of extruded foam packing chips.

His sense of taste had been equally unhelpful, confused as it was by the overwhelming taint of saltwater on most of the surfaces. This briny overtone also rendered his sense of smell of limited value although, since the door had been shut, Fraser had become increasingly aware of the scent of his fellow inmate in their confined environment. He put this down to the lack of other olfactory input rather than... anything... else.

The smell of Ray was distracting and since he had nothing more pressing to do, Fraser allowed himself to be distracted, cataloguing the diverse ingredients that made up his scent. Washing detergent, shampoo, hair gel, coffee and an unidentifiable cologne-like smell made up the bulk of the aroma, but other, more subtle scents added their own unique twist and gave Fraser a challenge.

Cigarette smoke was one of them; stale and not in sufficient quantity to suggest that Ray had been smoking again recently. Leather from his discarded jacket, his holster and his boots. Sugar and chocolate smells from the candy bar Ray had eaten on their way here and had offered to share with him. And the slight trace of fresh sweat - it was June and without the breeze off the lake, it was rather warm inside their container. He wondered if Ray had taken off his t-shirt in addition to his jacket earlier on when he had endured the sound of Ray's irritated, jerky activity after it had become clear that they were trapped.

Right. That was enough of that train of thought. It was unproductive and not entirely innocent, Fraser admitted to himself.

"Not that I'm talking to you..." Ray's voice came from across the empty space sounding high and tense. "... but how long do you think it will take for Welsh to send someone out to look for us?"

Maybe he had a fear of confined spaces? Maybe the dark? That would explain the rapid respiration too. Fraser concentrated his effort on listening to what Ray's voice was betraying about his mental state. That was what a good partner would do, to watch out for the other, react to his cues and compensate if he had a problem. That was good practice. That was 'buddies' as Ray so colourfully put it. And it was better than wondering about said partner's state of undress.

"Well, Diefenbaker has undoubtedly by now realised that we were unable to effect our own escape and is probably on his way to the twenty-seventh precinct to raise the alarm," Fraser said soothingly.

"And how many bakeries are there between here and there?" Ray asked significantly.

"I...er...ah!"

"So, Welsh?"

"Tomorrow morning, when we don't report in, I suppose," Fraser replied grudgingly. He wondered briefly about defending the reputation of his wolf's integrity, but had to concede that Ray was probably right. The greedy lupine would sell his own pelt for a cream horn.

"So what time d'ya think it is now?"

"Well without being able to see the sky, it's very difficult to be precise. If I were..."

" _Fraser!_ "

"Ten twenty."

"What? Your Mountie issue, super, underwater, spy decoder ring, four time zone watch doesn't have a light?"

"No, Ray, I'm afraid not. Does your CPD issue cellular 'phone come with a spare battery?"

Ray grunted, allowing Fraser that point. "So basically, we're here all night." It wasn't a question and he didn't sound happy about it.

"It would seem so."

Ray sighed and Fraser thought he could hear him scratching... probably the back of his neck in that strange little tic he had when under stress.

"Is that a problem?"

"Nah, Frase, it's fantastic. Couldn't be better."

"Well, it's not like we haven't spent nights together before." Fraser frowned in puzzlement at Ray's sudden intake of breath. "We have spent many hours on stakeouts and..."

"Did I not just say it was good? It's _fine_ , Fraser." Ray sounded bad-tempered and uncomfortable. Thinking back over their conversation Fraser couldn't find any reason for his partner's obvious distress. They'd been in smaller spaces than this and had endured darkness together without this sort of reaction, so his initial speculations seemed unfounded. Unless...

"I'm sorry, Ray. Were you perhaps... that is, did you have other plans this evening? A date maybe?"

"Yeah, I've got a diary just stuffed full of 'em, Fraser. I'm beating them off with a stick. That's how come I'm always hanging out with you an' the furball. A guy's gotta have a break from so many women."

Fraser bit back a rather cutting remark about Ray's persistent sarcasm. So if that wasn't the problem, then why was Ray reacting so negatively to their situation? They were in no immediate danger. Their position was known, even if their current situation wasn't, so someone _would_ come for them eventually. The only solution seemed to be their lack of occupation but without visual clues, Fraser was finding it very hard to get the measure of his friend. What _was_ the man thinking?

"Perhaps you'd like to play some sort of word game?" he offered.

"As I'm not talking to you, it might take longer than we've got," Ray pointed out, but then seemed to relent. "Actually, okay, I've got one. Make a well-known phrase or saying out of the following words. 'Up. Fraser. Shut.'"

Exasperation got the better of him and Fraser dropped his head back against the container wall with a dull clang.

"Say something encouraging, Benton."

Fraser jumped at the voice right at his side. His father. Could this possibly get any worse?

"Something uplifting. The Yank just needs your reassurance. Tell him about your Great Aunt Maude and that avalanche."

"I don't think long-winded stories about my deceased family members are appropriate at this juncture."

"Thank God," Ray muttered.

"I always rather liked that one myself. Particularly the bit with the artichoke soup, but perhaps you're right, son."

Fraser listened intently for five long, dark minutes before voicing up again. He cleared his throat. "Are you still here?"

"Where else would I be, Frase?" Ray said wearily. Thankfully, his was the only response to the question.

"Are you talking to me yet?" Fraser ventured hopefully.

"Nope."

"Ah."

Fraser got to his feet and began to pace up and down the floor. Twelve strides, turn and twelve strides back. He thought that he could make fifteen paces, but the possibility that he might run into the end wall of the container and give Ray another reason to snarl at him made him settle for twelve.

"Fraser, what are you doing?"

"Just stretching my legs."

"Well don't. You're gonna fall over me and I'll be forced to..."

"Kick me in the head?"

"Correctemundo, my friend."

"Don't worry, Ray. I can tell exactly where you are from the sound of your voice." Fraser walked unerringly to Ray's side and slid down the wall to sit beside his disgruntled partner.

Ray's respiration was hurried again.

"Is there something troubling you, Ray?" Fraser asked cautiously wondering if he was going to get another earful of grammatically mangled abuse.

"No. What would be troubling me?" Ray asked defensively and too fast - Fraser didn't need to see him to know that the man was bristling. His arm was only casually touching Ray's but he could feel how tense his friend was. It was almost, Fraser thought, as if he himself were making Ray nervous. And that led to a whole new slew of questions... call them speculations really, as to why that might be.

Fraser knew that the key to the solution was deduction; creating a working hypothesis and testing it. He decided that an impromptu investigation was called for. His friend was distressed, despite his protestations to the contrary, and what kind of a duet would this be if Fraser allowed his partner to suffer in silence? Besides, it was rather nicer to be sitting next to Ray and feeling the warmth of his skin through two thin layers of cotton (apparently the t-shirt had stayed on - Fraser tried not to feel disappointed at this), than to be stuck on the opposite side of the container all alone.

"Well..." Fraser began.

"Fraser, that was one of those... whaddya call 'em? Historical question thing..."

"Rhetorical?"

"Yeah, one of those. I'm fine."

Fraser made a placatory sound and subtly shifted closer to Ray, so their arms from shoulder to elbow were pressed together.

"I suppose we could discuss the case to pass the time," Fraser mused noticing that although Ray had held his breath momentarily, he hadn't adjusted his position to draw away from him again. "It would have the added benefit of taking your mind off whatever it is that isn't bothering you."

"What do the words 'not talking', mean to you, Fraser?"

"Well in this case, it seems to be a euphemism for actively disliking my presence here, Ray."

"Maybe 'disliking' is too strong..." Ray trailed off with another sigh.

"That notwithstanding, I have no other choice but to be here, given our current situation. If it would make you more comfortable, I could sit at one end of the container, and you at the other," Fraser suggested. He stretched his legs out in front of him, ostensibly making himself more comfortable in contrast to his words. And if his thigh, knee and ankle were now snugged up against those of his partner, well, that was just the way they had fallen as far as he was concerned.

Ray's breathing became ever more audible in the pitch black of the small space. And up close, Fraser was finding the scent of his friend to be almost intoxicating.

"No, you don't have to do that. At least I know what you're doing if you're sitting right next to me," Ray muttered and he had that tight, strained quality to his voice again.

"L'eau d'Issey Pour Homme."

"What?"

"Your cologne - it's L'eau d'Issey by Issey Miyake if I'm not mistaken."

"Do not do that, Fraser," Ray barked, although he still didn't seek to put distance between them.

"I'm sorry, Ray."

"You can't just go around sniffing people, okay? It's not polite or whatever. It's just one small step from sniffing to licking," Ray complained.

"I would never lick you, Ray," Fraser reassured him. He paused and then decided it was time to test this hypothesis. "Well, not without permission," he added quietly.

The effect on Ray was immediate and gratifying. Fraser felt the jerk in his shoulder from Ray's head snapping round to look at him - which of course he couldn't. Rhythmic gusts of coffee/chocolate breath reached the skin of Fraser's cheek and jaw as Ray struggled to find a retort. The silence stretched longer than was comfortable and Fraser began to seriously doubt what he had been almost sure of only a moment earlier.

"You shouldn't say things like that," Ray said finally. His voice was pitched low and intense. "People might get the wrong impression."

Fraser surprised himself with a tired laugh, which echoed back at him in their empty space. "I've become pretty much inured to people having the wrong impression about me, Ray."

"People might think..." Ray continued as if Fraser hadn't spoken; as if he had to concentrate on getting these words out before he changed his mind. "... that you mean it."

"People might think that, yes."

"Do you?"

"Do you want me to?"

"Don't do that, Frase."

To Fraser's ears, Ray sounded almost disappointed. He wondered what experience Ray had had that could make him sound so world-weary. Ray could normally be relied upon to be the flirtatious one, with a supply of quick responses and an easy laugh, but this was a side of his partner that he rarely saw; serious and uncertain.

So Fraser was faced with a choice. Did he resort to his usual tactic of retreating behind polite words and ambivalent meaning? Or did he marshal his courage and speak his mind? It seemed such a long time since he'd openly declared a personal desire for anything other than tea. It was so much easier to keep quiet, so when the inevitable disappointment came, at least he hadn't admitted out loud that he'd wanted it at all. Saving face - a prideful reaction, but one that had served him relatively well.

"I..." What? Fraser had no idea of what he'd started to say. Could he do this? Was he even capable any more of asking for something for himself? And if he asked, would Ray understand? Would he reciprocate? Or had he discerned Fraser's closely guarded attraction to him and was he just being the good friend Fraser knew him to be, and trying to talk it through?

God, what he'd give to be able to see Ray's face right now. His partner's every emotion, every thought showed on his expressive face. If Fraser could see him, he'd know immediately if he stood a chance.

And yet there was something liberating about this darkness, something that allowed him to dare more than he otherwise might. It seemed ridiculous to be thinking this in a closed container that held only the two of them, but it was a kind of anonymity. Things that he would never have given voice to, let alone acted upon, felt more possible.

Maybe in the same way that Fraser let the dark make him bold, Ray could suspend belief for a little while. In this darkness, it could be anybody touching Ray. He could be anyone Ray cared to imagine. Their partnership, their friendship, their pasts - none of this needed to intrude into this inky blackness if that's what Ray wanted. The consequences were outside, tomorrow, in the light of a new day.

A leap of faith, Fraser thought, was required. He'd trusted his instinct enough to come this far. He'd been certain enough that Ray's discomfort stemmed from his own proximity, and that the discomfort had been the result of a physical desire. But for him or for some unspecified other?

So not only a leap of faith, but one made blind.

He leapt.

"I once told you that I found you attractive. Of course I'd only known you for matter of days, so it could be assumed that my answer was based on your physical attributes alone. However that cannot be said now that we have been partners for nineteen months, and that I know you better than anyone I've ever met.

And yet, were you to ask me exactly the same question today as you did back then, I could not give you any other answer. Yes, I do find you attractive, very much so. And I'm qualified to answer, because although I am, quite obviously, not a woman, I believe that what any person of either sex is seeking in a partner are the qualities I see in you, Ray."

Ray was unnaturally silent. Fraser hadn't known that the man had it in him to be so inscrutable. He'd observed, time and again, that for Ray the thought was the deed, so this new contemplative Ray was thoroughly unnerving to him. What was he thinking?

Too much? Had he revealed more than Ray was comfortable with? Did the word 'partner' come with too much connotation? Or too little? Should he have made his offer less personal? Made it sound like the gesture of a friend only wishing to help-out another friend?

With a sudden, loud scrape, Ray brought up his knees and moved away. Fraser felt the loss of warmth all down the side of his body that had been against Ray's like a physical ache. He wanted to reach out and feel for him, to know what he was doing. The thumps and rustles of his friend's movements were frustratingly vague, but still close by. He wondered if he should be protecting his face from a flying fist or seeking contact to apologise for his error.

Fraser suppressed a start as a finger touched against his jaw, followed by the hand cupping his cheek, tentative and unfamiliar. Just for a second he felt the huff of breath over his face before Ray landed warm lips on his own. And, God above, Ray was kissing him, over and over - his mouth, his jaw, his chin. Hot kisses, wet kisses, gentle, desperate kisses.

Gradually Ray slowed and stopped, and Fraser felt him move away. Confused, Fraser brought a hand up to touch his lips, slick with the taste of Ray.

Hand.

Of course.

In his shocked delight at Ray's attentions, he hadn't so much as moved, let alone kissed him back. Fraser lunged out with both hands before Ray pulled too far away. He succeeded in finding an arm and a fist full of thin, cotton jersey t-shirt.

"Frase," Ray had time to croak before Fraser was on him, the weight of him carrying them both to the floor of the container in a rough tangle of limbs. The wood was smooth but dusty beneath his palms as he tried to position Ray comfortably on his back.

Ray was thwarting him every time, straining up from the floor to find his mouth and his face to press hard, off-target kisses on him. Each time Fraser pressed him back, he fought up at him, grasping and clinging with big, strong hands, trying to pull him down. Fraser realised that this was not the most efficient way to achieve the desired objective, so he allowed himself to be caught.

Rays hands flew to Fraser's hair, cupping his head and holding him while he angled their mouths to his satisfaction. Fraser let his lips go lax and allowed Ray to press his hot, clever tongue into his mouth. He offered no resistance and let Ray taste and kiss his fill. His partner's breaths were like little sobs, erratic and needy. Fraser rubbed a soothing hand at the nape of Ray's neck, calming him, like he might do to Dief when the wolf was unsettled by something.

As Ray's mouth became softer and his kisses less frantic, Fraser took control. Pushing gently against his shoulder, Fraser encouraged Ray to lie back down, never letting their lips part. Confidently he kissed Ray, deeply and as well as he knew how, trying to impart some of what he felt for this man with each stroke of his tongue.

He let his fingers linger on Ray's cheek when he pulled back, lightly brushing the sharp stubble there, the same stubble that had left a pleasant tingle on Fraser's face. Once again he found himself missing the lack of visual cues. One look at Ray's expression would have told him what he needed to know; how okay with this was Ray? How 'freaked' he was, to use one of Ray's favourite idioms.

Already Ray was stirring under him again, restless and wanting. Fraser realised he'd have to use his other senses to determine if he was pushing Ray too far, too fast or if he wasn't being aggressive enough.

Lying beside him, Fraser ran a hand lightly from Ray's jaw to his chest. Ray wore his t-shirts so tight, Fraser already knew how well defined his pectoral muscles were but to be able to feel that definition and the potential power behind them was sublime. Although slim, Ray was strong and well muscled. Fraser could feel the thump of Ray's heart, beating almost hard enough to have been visible, had there been enough light.

Ray's hands reached up to his shoulders. "Fraser," he whispered, trying to pull him back down.

"Shh!" Fraser admonished softly and snagged the bottom of Ray's shirt, tugging it up to bunch beneath his armpits. He bent to brush his nose against the smooth belly, inhaling his scent in a dizzying flood of sensation. He let his lips trail slowly upwards, scarcely touching the warmth of Ray's skin.

Ray was breathing through his nose, taking deep, fast breaths. He shivered as Fraser ghosted his lips over his exposed chest. Pleased at finding the softer skin of Ray's nipples with his lips, he gently rubbed his jaw over the rising hard bumps, and felt his stubble catch and scrape at the sensitive skin. Ray arched up into the friction, gasping wordlessly.

Ray's hands clutched convulsively at his clothing as Fraser settled to tracing the shape of Ray's abdominal muscles with his tongue. Ray's skin was slightly salty under the lingering traces of soap, and the ache in Fraser's groin spiked to new levels of pleasurable discomfort.

Moving up to distract Ray with a deep, breath-stealing kiss, he felt his way to Ray's fly, popped the button and carefully dragged the zipper over the urgent pressure beneath. Ray stilled immediately and Fraser moved even more slowly so as not to spook him. He slid his fingers, inch by inch, into the heat inside Ray's jeans, feeling the hard, straining shape of him through the thin cotton of his shorts, not knowing if he would be refused at any second.

Ray began to struggle in earnest with Fraser's shirt, trying to pull it off him without undoing the buttons first. Fraser quickly took one, then the other of his Ray's wrists into one big hand and forced them over his head and onto the floor. This had the added bonus of lifting Ray's chest higher so Fraser was able to lick broad, wet stripes across his nipples as his fingers freed Ray's erection from the confining cotton and denim with his other hand.

Fraser heard the abandoned sound of Ray's head thumping softly back onto the floor when he could finally close his fist around Ray's dick. His hips pressed up instinctively at the pressure of Fraser's hand and Fraser had to "Shh," him again to make him lie back, which he did finally with a frustrated groan.

The smoothness of Ray's thick, heavy dick felt exquisite in Fraser's hand, hot and twitching. His curious fingers ran from the crown, which was circumcised and slick with moisture, down the shaft, over his cool, tight balls and into the coarse curly hair that surrounded them.

Ray's body jerked and squirmed like a live wire beneath Fraser's touch, distracting him from his exploration. Quickly, he lifted up and straddled Ray's torso, still pressing his arms over his head and held himself above his twitchy partner.

"Ray. I'm going to let your hands go in a moment. I want you to just relax and not move at all. Can you do that?"

Ray drew in a shuddering breath, sighed it out and whispered, "Yes."

"You can tell me to stop at any time, Ray, and I will. But I want you to remain totally still. Understood?"

Fraser heard the scritch of Ray's gelled hair against the floor as he nodded his head in agreement. Cautiously Fraser shifted his weight back and let go of Ray's wrists. He was pleased when he did as he was told, and pressed a smiling kiss onto Ray's lips as he moved again, to kneel between his thighs, sliding his clothing away as he settled.

"Frase?"

"Shh! You're not talking to me, remember?" he chided as he worked Ray's jeans lower.

Fraser felt the tension finally bleed from Ray through palms pressed flat against his belly. This was what Fraser had been looking for. He'd wanted Ray to give himself over to the sensations totally and he hadn't been sure how far Ray's trust in him would take them in this new territory. Trusting your partner with your life in the course of your duty was one thing, but trusting them with your heart (hopefully) and your body was somehow equally as hard.

Fraser took his time, investigating each newly exposed inch of flesh with relish. He ran sensitive lips softly over the skin of Ray's stomach, over the short prickly hairs of his thighs, then buried his nose into the crease at Ray's hip and inhaled deeply. Ray's scent seemed to complement the maritime air of their confinement, the tang of him, salty and fresh in Fraser's nostrils and on his tongue.

As Fraser moved closer to his prize the flavours of Ray's arousal began to dominate - sweat and the slickness of his erection combining to make Fraser's own cock thrum and ache. In his mind's eye he could see Ray laying spread beneath him - the disarray of his clothing, the high colour on the fine curve of his cheekbones, his lips shiny, wet and parted as he panted the short needy breaths Fraser could hear. He fervently hoped that Ray would be amenable to a repeat performance soon, somewhere with adequate illumination so he could compare his mental image to the real thing - but perhaps that was hoping too much. Fraser didn't dwell on thoughts of future rejection but made the most of the good fortune he was currently enjoying.

Placing the flat of his tongue to the head of Ray's cock generated an explosion of reaction - Ray's and his own. Ray's groan seemed to come from somewhere deep down; a ragged, intense sound that made Fraser shiver. The taste of Ray's reaction to Fraser was sublime - musky and brackish and unmistakably masculine. Fraser licked greedily around the crown, savouring the slippery heat as much as the flavours.

Ray's muscles shuddered beneath Fraser's hands, their kinetic potential only barely contained by Ray's willpower. As he finally took the head of Ray's dick between his lips, he squeezed gently at the exposed skin of his balls, eliciting more moans. It was the noises Ray made that Fraser found so incredibly arousing. Ray was amazingly responsive - each touch, every action, was met with a satisfying whisper or breath, spurring Fraser to greater effort and intimacy.

He worked Ray as skilfully as he could remember how, slowly bringing him closer to the edge, moving purposefully, controlled and deliberate until Ray was almost vibrating beneath his hands and mouth. The gentle sounds of encouragement had ceded into half formed pleas, heartfelt profanities and the broken murmuring of his name.

"Fraser, oh fuck. Please. I'm... fuck. Frase!"

Shifting onto a hip, Fraser fumbled with his own jeans, never taking his mouth off the incoherent man beneath him. His arousal made him impatient and rough as he opened his fly, resisting the urge to rub himself off through the denim. It wouldn't take much, Fraser knew, to bring himself to Ray's pitch of desperation.

As he palmed his own cock, leaking and slick, he moaned a little around his mouthful of Ray. Ray's hips jerked up off the dusty floor, making Fraser take more of him in and almost causing him to choke. Pulling back a little to give himself some breathing room, Fraser let his hand tug a counterpoint rhythm to Ray's preferred pace on his own cock.

Ray's voice had become little more than a sob, and when Fraser curled his tongue to sweep just below the ridge of his crown he felt Ray's body stiffen and his cock pulse on his tongue to be followed a second later by a flood of bitter, salty fluid.

Ray's hands came down heavily into his hair and held on tight, clutching convulsively as he shot again into Fraser's greedily sucking mouth. Fraser's hand on his own dick faltered as he worked to get more out of Ray's orgasm, and he held on until Ray had stopped twitching.

Fraser felt Ray shift fluidly beneath him and his heart seized thinking Ray was seeking to distance himself from their actions already. But instead he felt Ray's hot, trembling hands touch his chest, trailing lower over his stomach and then tracing the shape of Fraser's fist around his own cock.

"God, I wish I could see you. Wish I could see this," Ray whispered as he rubbed a gentle thumb over Fraser's leaking slit, making him shudder.

Through the haze of pleasure, Fraser dimly recognised the significance of Ray's words; that Ray was very well aware of who he was with, and was participating fully in that knowledge. Fraser knew that was important and he felt the glow of the knowledge make his heart thump harder, but Ray's closeness was overwhelming, his tentative fingers drove any deeper thoughts from his head.

With clumsy, shaking hands Ray displaced Fraser's fist and wrapped his own fingers around the throbbing, hot length of him. "S'this okay?" he asked quietly, his voice sated and husky, as he pulled slowly but thoroughly at his cock.

"Yes, Ray, it's...uhhh," Fraser faltered, distracted by the intense sensations. "It's very much okay, Ray," he finished with an effort and stretched out slightly on his side to give Ray more room to work with.

The scent of their combined sweat and semen was overpowering now in the darkness. Fraser's hands reached blindly for somewhere to rest as he submitted to Ray's touch, finding his stubbled jaw and his hot neck. Fraser pulled Ray closer, searching for kisses as his heart hammered in his chest and the familiar surge tingled through his body. But Ray wouldn't let him hold his lips, he bit and licked at Fraser's mouth but pulled away each time the kiss deepened.

"Ray, please..." Fraser groaned. So close. He was so, so close. Ray's hand worked him with firm but languid ease, keeping him balanced on the edge but never letting him fall. And, dear God, but he wanted to fall. He tried to wrap his own fingers around Ray's fist to make him do it - make him come, but Ray just huffed a breathy laugh over his neck and pushed his hand away.

Fraser groaned, anchoring his hands in Ray's hair, as Ray himself had done to him. How could he be this close, this aroused and still not be coming? Ray was infuriating, fantastic, maddening, perfect. God, it was never going to end.

"C'mon, Frase," Ray murmured against his lips, dancing away again when Fraser sought to capture his taste. "C'mon. If I can't see you, I wanna hear you. Come for me,'" he urged and bit down hard on Fraser's neck.

Fraser grunted at the sting of teeth then moaned as Ray tightened his grip, jerking him hard, harder now, as if he knew that was what Fraser liked. "Oh God!" Fraser panted. "Yes! Yes, Ray. Like that. Don't stop! Don't... Oh my... FUCK!"

He convulsed, curling around Ray and his own pulsing cock. Fraser was dimly aware that Ray had finally relented and was kissing him, deep and wet and long, as sensation crashed over him and left him weak.

No amount of stars could have given Fraser bearing on how long he lay there twined around Ray, but when the noise of his labouring heart abated and his breathing settled, he slid his hands from Ray's hair.

He knew Ray wasn't sleeping; there was a tense stillness to him that betrayed his awareness. He was thinking. Cautiously, Fraser laid a soft hand on Ray's ribs and waited.

Once again the lack of other stimulus made it hard to think of anything but Ray, although that wasn't the case on all the other occasions his thoughts had run to a very similar scenario to the one they had just shared. Thoughts of Ray were a constant source of pleasure and guilt to Fraser, and had been for some time. Of course normally, Ray wasn't lying dishevelled and sexually sated at his side, but his trepidation at Ray's reaction was uncomfortable in the extreme. He tried to concentrate on something else and allow Ray the time to collect his thoughts before he jumped in with apologies and explanations.

There was still no noise coming from the vicinity of their container and the heat collected by the metal during the day was rapidly being leached by the cool lake air. It wasn't going to be a comfortable night. It was going to be damp and chill and sleeping on the plywood floor was going to make him ache all over, not that he'd admit it. All that being said, Fraser couldn't imagine wanting to be anywhere else than here, on this dusty, gritty, hard floor, all four of his functioning senses thrilling to the sensation of his partner lying against him.

Fraser had just reached the conclusion that he'd have to speak first when Ray stirred beneath his hand.

"So, you do this a lot?" Ray asked, his voice not quite making the level of nonchalant Fraser was accustomed to hearing.

"No, Ray," he replied softly, knowing how much more he was answering than the simple question asked. He smiled a little in the darkness as Ray's body eased perceptibly.

"Okay. Okay, that's... that's cool. 'Cause, you know, I'm not a kind of guy who like, puts it about a lot, you know? I know I act like I'm all that, but in reality, I'm a pretty uh... you know, long term."

"Ray?"

"I mean I _have_ been around that ring a few times, I've done the... the casual thing..."

"Ray?"

"... and if that was what you were thinking, then, you know, I'm not saying that I'm not interested, but... but if it was, uh... something else you were looking for..."

"Ray. Ray. _Ray!_ "

" _ **What?**_ "

"I love you." Honesty was the best policy, Fraser thought, but o top of that he couldn't come up with anything else he'd rather say.

"Oh! Right. Greatness."

There was a short tense silence.

"Is this some kind of Canadian humour that I don't know about?"

Fraser smiled at the confusion in his friend's voice. "Now, Ray, as you very well know there is no such thing as Canadian humour."

"That's true. So...what? Seriously? I mean...seriously?"

"Very seriously indeed," Fraser confirmed.

He felt Ray's chuckle through his whole body as the incredulous man shifted a little closer. "You never heard of romance, Fraser? You tell me this in a big, metal box with my jeans around my ankles? I mean ten out of ten for results, but for style?" Ray made a deprecating noise and chuckled again.

"I'm sorry, Ray. It seemed germane."

"Germane. Yeah, sure. You know, you hang around with me all these months and I figured some of my innate cool would have rubbed off on you. But no, you're still a freak."

Somehow the words lacked sting when they were said with Ray's hands sliding beneath the cotton of Fraser's shirt and with his lips toying with the skin of his neck. Fraser sighed contentedly. "Understood."

"So what time does your super internal Mountie clock say it is now?" Ray asked after a little kissing and a little getting comfy.

"I have no idea."

"Okay. So look at it this way. If there are eighteen blocks between here and the two-seven with at least one bakery on each block, that means that help will not be arriving before, say, eight a.m."

"I think that's a fair assumption," Fraser murmured, although it was difficult to concentrate with Ray's long fingers tracing patterns up and down his spine.

"So, Fraser, is it eight a.m. yet?"

"I think... Ray?"

"Yeah?"

"I like the way you think."

Fin


End file.
